


nonexisting, you still filled my mind

by ghostheart



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Game(s), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 16:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostheart/pseuds/ghostheart
Summary: Three ghosts visit Shuuichi.





	nonexisting, you still filled my mind

**Author's Note:**

> title is from “pisces” by rebecka reinhard.

* * *

On his first night of freedom, he dreams of Momota.

It shouldn’t be surprising. He lost him later and his memories are still salient, floating at the surface of his mind, waiting to sink to the fathoms below to join his recollections of the others.

Dreams always take place in the most irrelevant of locations. In this one, they’re far beyond the glass dome of the campus they failed to save themselves from. Shuuichi recognizes this place — it’s the sharp slope of grass behind his uncle’s condo. It’s a claustrophobic space, no greater than a small bedroom, but it’s fresh air and vivid blues and greens.

And Momota sits beside him. His face isn’t as sharp as it is in his memories. It’s an approximation, a patchwork replica conjured from his recollections. Shuuichi sees him smile, though, and he can make out that much. The edges of everything around them are blurry — the blades of grass beneath them and the leaves on the oak tree above them blend into one amorphous green mass. Momota’s facial expression wavers between amused and bemused.

It’s never night in his dreams. If Momota is here, it seems only appropriate that the stars preside over them, but all they get is a clear, cloudless blue sky.

Words float, hazy and inexact, in the way that words in dreams are wont to do. He catches snippets of sentences and makes inferences as best as one can in a world without logic.

_“...really...?”_

Shuuichi doesn’t know what he said to elicit such disbelief, but Momota’s face softens even further. His eyebrows knit together in concession as he smiles sadly.

_“...guess you’re right...”_

Shuuichi isn’t sure what he says, but he places a hand on Momota’s knee, and the warmth is all too palpable for an ephemeral moment. Momota’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

_“...do you think?”_

The dream begins to falter, losing its scant details, and Shuuichi can no longer tell what Momota’s facial expressions mean. He still intercepts those whispers of dialogue:

_“...okay...”_

Momota’s eyes are glassy with unreleased tears, and that’s how Shuuichi knows it’s a dream. He begins to wake up.

_“...miss...too...”_

* * *

When Shuuichi opens his eyes, it’s still dark outside. He throws the sheets off of himself and swings his legs out of bed, dragging his feet over to the sole, small window in his bedroom. He peers through the blinds, noting the inky black sky and the stars that puncture its fabric.

Satisfied that the stars still exist, he goes back to sleep.

* * *

Kaede comes much later than he thought she would.

Again, they’re in a place far, far away from the prison school. They walk through the hallways of Shuuichi’s old school. Their footsteps ricochet against the walls and resonate through the empty halls.

His dream’s construction of Kaede is, once again, not the most faithful adaptation possible. The inaccurate details hardly register with Shuuichi as Kaede reaches for his hand and she rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet.

_“...let me show you...”_

Show me what?

Kaede raises her eyebrows, apologetic and ashamed, in a seemingly inappropriate response to his question.

_“Don’t worry, I...”_

He doesn’t need to be reassured, and he (thinks he) says as much. Kaede laughs and rubs at her eyes with the hand that isn’t holding his. She leads him to the wall, out of sight of any prying eyes from the hallway’s classroom doors. The warm orange light of the sunset filters through the large window on the opposite wall, dyeing Kaede’s face a color that makes him inexplicably nostalgic.

_“...sad...”_

The lingering smile from her laughter fades, morphing into melancholy. He feels a vague pressure against his hand even through the layered protection from sensation that the dream offers. She looks up at him beneath her long eyelashes, and the imprecision of her features does not diminish from the look of profound _sehnsucht_ — the lamenting of a life unfinished.

_“...come back soon, okay?”_

* * *

The next day, Shuuichi opens a rendition of _Clair de lune_ on a music app on his phone and lets it play as he robotically cleans the countertops of his kitchen.

* * *

He has his first dream about Ouma about a month after the conclusion of the killing game.

Shuuichi thought one of these dreams would eventually take place in the academy, but he is once again mistaken as he’s standing in the middle of Shibuya ward, striding along the sidewalk. Ouma sidles up by his side and waves his arms in the midst of an engaging story. Shuuichi can’t tell what it’s supposed to be about, but he feels himself nodding along.

_“...a lie!”_

That phrase is a strange comfort in an unkind universe.

Shuuichi says something — he doesn’t know what — and Ouma stares at the ground, pensive.

_“...lonely, no...”_

Shuuichi laughs, inciting Ouma’s ire. He balls his hands up into fists and stops in the middle of the sidewalk as people filter around them.

_“Hey, that was...”_

Shuuichi can’t stop his laughter, perhaps because his subconscious’s recreation of Ouma is so hopelessly accurate — perhaps because of something Ouma said, though he isn’t sure what he said.

Ouma’s fists relax as they fall to his sides, realization washing over him like a frigid wave.

_“...time...truth...”_

He extends his hand toward Shuuichi, and before he can reach back, he opens his eyes.

* * *

Shuuichi mindlessly channel surfs at the end of the day and settles on a comedy skit show. It’s a traditional, unremarkable program with a stereotypical _boke_ and _tsukkomi_ , but it’s soothing. It’s the feeling of coming home, and he falls asleep on the sofa.

* * *

Tonight, Shuuichi dreams of nothing at all.


End file.
